


i've got all i need to be free

by stateoftano13



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (probably at some point), Angst, Civil War Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, and it displeases peter greatly, and it displeases tony greatly, but then there are those occasions, everyone else is perpetually exasperated, like a lot, peter tends to disregard his health, they're basically a chaotic duo, tony is a good surrogate dad most of the time, tony tends to forget to sleep, where he eggs peter on and they both almost die, which means steve almost dies too because natasha isn't having any of that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:10:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateoftano13/pseuds/stateoftano13
Summary: honestly, tony needed a vacation. and maybe a drink.he can't say he's surprised, really, because after all, he is trying to mentor a hormonal teenage superhero. it was never going to be a smooth ride.or: the one in which the events of civil war are resolved and steve is perpetually exasperated because he really, definitely can't keep an eye on everyone, but if someone blows up, natasha will definitely shoot him.





	1. maltesers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! so this is my first mcu fanfic and the first thing i've written on the archive so i'm actually highkey nervous about posting it because, you know, general terror of failing to accurately capture the characters and all that.
> 
> infinity war basically ripped my heart from my chest and smashed it into a million pieces, and because the avengers team is one of my favourite dysfunctional and haphazard families, i decided i needed to write them in a happier time, in an attempt to sellotape the broken shards of my heart. you feel?
> 
> this is just going to be a collection of one-shots that i write whenever i feel like it? and it'll probably focus more on tony and peter and the gradual growth of their relationship, because dad!tony is my favourite thing in the universe.
> 
> also, no slash.

Admittedly, Peter was a bit confused.

How his weekend plan had gone from catching up on homework to trying not to die whilst hanging off Mr Stark’s Iron Man suit, he really had no idea.

Yeah, Mr Stark was going to kill him – possibly turn him into a pile of Peter ash, and that’s if he was _lucky_.

Anyway, he was pretty sure it was Cap’s fault.

* * *

 

Arriving at Avengers Tower always had Peter buzzing and jumping up and down in the seat of the too-pristine Audis Mr Stark owned – so much so that Happy always seemed to be giving him odd looks.

Excitedly, Peter gripped the soft leather of the backseat as he stared in wonderment at the building that always seemed to sparkle in the afternoon sun. He could _never_ get tired of all of it, despite the sheer amount of time he spent at the Tower.

‘Cool it, Underoos.’ Peter turned and grinned enthusiastically at the billionaire seated beside him. Tony, with all his usual charisma, pulled off his sunglasses and studied the kid. ‘Remember what we agreed on, Spiderling. No crawling on Vision’s ceiling, and Agent Romanov says she’ll judo-flip you if you try to make her watch another Star Wars movie, so I wouldn’t try it, if I were you.’ Peter made to protest – it had been _one_ movie – but Tony held up a hand to shut him up. ‘Nope. Don’t wanna hear it. Come on.’ With that, the genius pushed open the door on his side and stepped out of the vehicle.

Peter squinted against the sunlight as he exited the Audi, cheerily turning back to give the sombre Happy a farewell wave. Then, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he trotted to catch up with his mentor.

‘So-so what are we doing this weekend, Mr Stark? Another mission? Are we gonna blow something up – is Cap gonna let me use his shield again? Man, that was such a good day!’ Tony glanced over at Peter in amusement; the kid got too excited for his own good.

‘Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, Mr Parker, but I believe you have homework.’ Tony smirked at the expression of horror that had morphed on Peter’s face.

‘But-but Mr Stark! Come on, man, not cool,’ Peter groaned, gesturing uselessly with his hand.

‘Your Aunt said you’ve been out late every night this week. Finish your homework, and then we’ll talk,’ Tony replied, as the pair entered the gleaming building and effectively escaped the biting cold of the late January air.

‘I remember when homework wasn’t a good enough reason to not drag me to Berlin,’ Peter murmured, only to be met with a raised eyebrow.

‘Watch it, kid. Romanov’s around.’ Tony pulled off his sunglasses again and pointed them almost menacingly at Peter. ‘And anyway, that was different. The world was ending then.’

‘If you call a tiny airport squabble ‘the world ending’, Stark, I’m even more worried about you than I was before.’ Steve emerged from a hallway to the left, his arms crossed in the usual fashion as he leant against the wall, and Tony snorted.

‘You’re always worried. It’s totally unreasonable. Hey, kid,’ Tony glanced over at the teenager, whose crinkled eyes betrayed the forced passive downturn of his mouth, ‘head up to your room; I’ll be there in a minute.’ Tony watched Peter genuinely frown and shoot him a questioning look before slowly heading towards the elevator.

‘You shouldn’t have brought him here this weekend, Stark,’ Steve started, the second he was certain Peter was out of earshot; those enhanced senses could really be a bitch, sometimes. ‘You know what Nat and I are going to be up to.’

Tony furrowed his eyebrows, looking nonchalant as he spread his arms.

‘Not my problem, Rogers. The kid comes here to train. I won’t deny him that because of a little side project you and Romanov have decided to work on.’ Steve pressed his lips together as he stared at the billionaire.

‘Fine, Stark. Just keep him away from our training room, alright?’

‘No promises, Rogers.’

* * *

 

Peter absently twirled in the desk chair in his room, staring around at the numerous posters adorning the walls. Mr Stark had outdone himself with the whole thing, really – the first time Peter had laid eyes on the room, he was quite sure he had knocked the air out of his mentor with the force of his hug. The following moments had been slightly awkward, suffice to say, but that hadn’t bothered Peter.

Each light-grey coloured wall held three evenly spaced framed posters, ranging from Star Wars-themed to ‘PHYSICS: THE ONLY REAL SCIENCE.’ A double bed, covered shamelessly in an Avengers duvet, stood in the centre of the room opposite the door, and two more doors led to a closet and bathroom on the left and right walls respectively. Peter’s desk stood in a corner to the left of the door, and low bookshelves on either side held a variety of comics and unopened Lego sets. A compact box at the foot of the bed housed a television, on which Peter had access to all of F.R.I.D.A.Y’s movie archives.

Peter was quite sure that the room was one of the nicest things anyone had ever bothered to do for him. When he’d told Mr Stark that, the man had just stared at him for a long moment. Peter still wasn’t certain what had been running through his mentor’s head.

By the time Mr Stark showed up, Peter had decided to pull out his chemistry book and balance equations. Mr Stark’s ‘minute’ apparently translated to over half an hour in _human_ time; Peter had even gone so far as to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y where his mentor was. The AI had sombrely told him that that information was ‘classified’.

‘How’s your homework going, kiddo?’ Peter glanced up as Mr Stark appeared in the doorway.

‘Oh, uh, it’s okay, Mr Stark. Just chemistry,’ Peter answered quietly as he fiddled with his pen.

‘I’ll assume you know what you’re doing, then. Also, I want you to stay away from the training floor this weekend, because your Aunt will kill me if you get blown up, and that’ll make things messy. Capisce?’ Tony’s tone was almost joking, but his expression was serious, prompting Peter to nod more vigorously than required.

‘Of course, Mr Stark.’

‘Good.’ Peter looked back down at his work before glancing to Mr Stark again.

‘Mr Stark… why-why am I here if I can’t train? I don’t understand. Isn’t the point of this to make me… better?’ Peter asked uncertainly – because why would Mr Stark bring him to the Tower if not to teach him; to mentor him? Didn’t the man only put up with him because he could be an asset to the team, one day?

‘Because, kid. I want to keep an eye on you. And you aren’t bad company.’ Peter started in surprise – Mr Stark _wanted_ him around? Peter loved spending time with his mentor, but he really hadn’t thought that feeling was mutual.

‘But… why?’ Peter hesitantly voiced his doubt, causing Mr Stark to stare at him as if he’d grown another head; which, really, he could have, because there were probably crazy side effects to the radioactive spider bite that just hadn’t shown up yet. Mr Stark sighed as he walked over and seated himself on the bed and fixed Peter with an appraising look.

‘You’re a good kid, Peter. But that’s it; you’re a _kid_. Sometimes you need to do kid stuff, rather than spending your time almost dying because of a guy with a gun in a subway – _yes_ , I know about that,’ Tony said sternly, as Peter opened his mouth to argue. ‘My point is, I like having you around, and I’m going to make sure you take time off from being Spider-Man sometimes. You don’t seem to be very good at doing that yourself. Plus, your hot Aunt is worried about you.’ Tony winked and Peter made a gagging sound.

‘Mr Stark!’ Tony laughed at the disgusted expression on Peter’s face.

‘Sorry, Spiderling. But do you understand what I’m saying, Peter?’

‘Y-yeah. I think so. You won’t take away the suit again, will you?’ Tony’s forehead creased as Peter’s anxious doe-eyes met his.

‘No, kid, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not taking away the suit. I don’t want you to end up with another building on top of you and not know about it as soon as it happens.’ Peter visibly winced, and Tony _almost_ regretted making the comment. The billionaire remembered _that_ particular day; the day the teenager had told him what else had transpired on Homecoming night almost four months ago. Tony recalled lecturing the kid, _again_ , about the danger of having gone after Toomes, because _dammit Peter you could’ve died_ ; when he’d noticed Peter tearing up, however, he’d merely sighed and sat down beside the kid. Having a building dropped on him, Tony thought, was bad enough.

‘That was a bad day,’ Peter muttered in agreement. Peter looked up and out of the window suddenly, pressing his lips together tightly.

‘Yeah, kiddo, I know,’ Tony answered, his tone unusually soft. ‘Now,’ Tony clapped his hands together as he stood from the bed, startling Peter, ‘once you’ve done some more homework, feel free to come on out to the common area. Tonight’s movie night. Rhodey is choosing, so you know it’ll be good.’ Tony felt a smile tugging at his lips as Peter grinned at him.

Upon exiting the room, Tony instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y to keep an eye on the Spider-kid; just to make sure he was working, of course. Nothing more. Or, at least, that’s what Tony told himself.

* * *

 

It started with the Maltesers.

Movie night at Avengers Towers turned out to be an inexplicably rowdy event. A pile of food had been stacked on the table in front of the soft couches, F.R.I.D.A.Y had dimmed the lights, and surround-sound blasted music at anyone’s request. The smell of popcorn filled the air as Natasha and Sam heaped bags into the oversized microwave, and the chatter and banter was seemingly unending.

And damn, Peter had decided that the Avengers were even cooler when they weren’t saving the world. How that was possible, he wasn’t sure; all he knew was that seeing Steve and Rhodey argue over which song F.R.I.D.A.Y should be playing, and F.R.I.D.A.Y constantly switching back and forth between the same two songs, was the best thing he had seen all week.

Once everyone was finally settled, Peter found himself lodged between his mentor and Bruce on the centre couch; Peter fondly referred to them as ‘the science bros’, which always made Mr Stark chuckle. The only two missing from the ensemble were Thor and Clint; apparently, Clint was on house arrest until further notice after the mess of Berlin. Wanda and Vision were curled up on an adjacent couch, and Rhodey, Sam, Steve, and Natasha (though Peter was, admittedly, always too afraid to call her anything other than ‘Agent Romanov’ to her face) were jammed onto a third. There was a relaxed, playful vibe in the room, and Peter wished he could just sink into it; allow it to cocoon him. It felt so nice; like _home_.

When the Star Wars theme began playing, Natasha let out an indignant groan, and her death glare quickly found Peter.

‘Parker, I _swear_ if this is your doing, I’m going to lob this entire bag of Maltesers at your head.’ Natasha held up the red bag in threat, and Peter’s eyes widened in alarm as he frantically shook his head and sank back into the couch.

‘No, no, it wasn’t me, I swear! I didn’t choose the movie!’ Peter heard a snort from beside him, and glanced over to see his mentor’s face scrunched up in laughter. ‘Mr Staaark!’ he whined, but the man only reached over and ruffled the teenager’s brown hair. Peter pouted, but his sulking was cut short when he felt something small and hard hit him in the head. ‘Ow!’ He yelped, but his expression turned apologetic upon realising Nat really _had_ thrown a Malteser at his head.

‘Romanov! Play nicely and pick on someone your own size,’ Tony teased, failing to suppress a smirk at the fearful apology his Spiderling appeared to be attempting to muster. ‘Throw the Maltesers at Rhodey instead.’

That comment earned Tony a Malteser to the head, too, and soon enough, Rhodey and Steve seemed to be the only ones even _attempting_ to focus on Star Wars: Episode VII (Rhodey was desperately shoving popcorn into his mouth and craning his neck around the superheroes jumping around the lounge area, in some last-ditch effort to watch the film. Tony, quite frankly, found it hilarious).

The Malteser War, as someone had dubbed it about halfway through, spanned a solid twenty minutes and at least fifteen bags of Maltesers. By the end, two couches had been upturned and used for cover, and Peter thought the entire thing was amazing; quite possibly the best night of his life, in fact. He and Mr Stark had somehow teamed up, and he had wasted no time in enthusiastically lobbing Maltesers over the bar they were hiding behind. He’d accidentally hit Mr Stark once (he _really_ didn’t know how that one had happened), and Mr Stark had dumped a whole bags’ worth of the chocolates over his head in retaliation.

Once the Maltesers had run out and everyone had emerged from their hiding places, Peter more than happily plopped himself onto one of the upturned couches and curled in on himself, his attention back on the Star Wars film. The rest of the group was quick to follow suit, but Mr Stark was the only one who seemed bothered by the chocolatey mess they had made. Peter watched him surveying the Malteser-covered floors with his arms folded and a frown adorning his features.

‘Is nobody – am I going to have to clean this up?’ He questioned, and Peter shot him a grin before turning back to the television. ‘Alright – I hate to be the boring one, but… F.R.I.D.A.Y, TV off, and lights up.’

Every person in the room let out a loud groan or protesting exclamation as the film shut off and they were left squinting against the bright fluorescent lights.

‘I’ll help, Mr Stark!’ Peter piped up suddenly, and wasted no time in back flipping off the couch and landing in front of older man, beaming.

‘Yeah, now you will, kiddo. And no flipping off the furniture!’

* * *

 

Somehow, Peter found himself in Mr Stark’s lab a few hours later.

Mr Stark had told him months ago that he was allowed in the lab as often as he wanted, on the agreement that Peter didn’t touch any of his mentor’s projects.

But Peter didn’t think that meant he was allowed down here at three in the morning.

But there he sat, staring down at the web-shooters sitting on his wrists. He never slept without them on, these days, and he knew Mr Stark knew about that sliver of odd behaviour. He hadn’t asked why, yet, which was something Peter was grateful for. He didn’t think he was quite ready to explain it to anyone, let alone his idol.

After Mr Stark had made everyone help in the clean-up, they had finished the movie and headed off to bed. Mr Stark had walked Peter back to his room, telling him to call F.R.I.D.A.Y if he needed him at any point during the night.

So, naturally, Peter opted to sit up in the dark lab and tinker rather than seek out his mentor.

‘Peter, would you like me to turn on the lights?’ The resident AI’s sudden question pulled Peter from his reverie.

‘Uh, no thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y. My eyes are adjusted, anyway,’ he murmured in reply.

‘Very well. Would you like me to call Mr Stark?’ At this, a breath caught in Peter’s throat.

‘No, no F.R.I.D.A.Y. That’s okay,’ Peter said, as he absently began tapping his fingers against the cool metal of the workbench.

‘Are you certain? It’s uncharacteristic of you to sit down here in the dark for so long.’ The AI sounded almost concerned for him, causing Peter’s eyebrows to furrow.

‘I’m okay, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Thanks.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, however, the teenager was struck with an idea. ‘Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?’

‘Yes, Peter?’

‘Do you think Mr Stark would get mad if I went to the training floor?’ The AI didn’t respond for a moment, making Peter’s chest flutter with nervousness.

‘I don’t see why that wouldn’t be acceptable.’

‘Cool.’ Peter slipped of the stool he had seated himself on, and headed towards the doors. ‘Mr Stark told me to stay off the training floor this weekend, but I just… need to do something, you know?’

‘Perhaps I should call Mr Stark to let him know.’

‘I don’t want to disturb his sleep, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’ Peter poked his head around the door to make sure the hall was clear, before he made his way downstairs as quietly as he could.

* * *

 

Peter had not expected one of Mr Stark’s suits to greet him as he stepped over the threshold into the large room. Or, not so much greet, but to be vacantly staring at him in a way that kind of creeped him out.

His previous intentions of finding a punching bag forgotten, Peter wandered up to the suit. It looked newer – possibly a new mark, Peter thought in fascination – and it was _so shiny_ , coloured in the traditional red and gold.

 _All he did was touch the reactor core_.

Next thing he knew, the damn thing had turned on its boosters and was almost frantically flying circles around the training room. Peter barely had time to comprehend what was happening as he clutched onto the torso for dear life.

‘Gaaah; fuck, shit – F.R.I.D.A.Y, do something!’ The suit was loud – louder seeing as the only sound he had heard in the last couple hours was F.R.I.D.A.Y’s metallic voice.

‘I have alerted Mr Stark of the situation.’ The AI responded tonelessly.

‘No, F.R.I.D.A.Y – anything but that!’ Peter groaned; he could feel his hands slipping – _why couldn’t F.R.I.D.A.Y turn the damned suit off? –_ and Mr Stark would for sure kill him. He wasn’t supposed to _be in here_ , after all. If he died, well, Mr Stark would make sure to kill him _twice_. ‘Why the hell is this thing in here, anyway?’ He cried aloud, surprised when the AI answered.

‘Captain America and Agent Romanov have been training in the suit, in case an emergency arises in which it is required that they wear it.’

‘Okay, but _in here?_ Come on, F.R.I.D.A.Y, can’t you turn it off?’ Peter was almost pleading now; it was hard to hold onto a suit that was flying around a room too small for it to be flying around in.

Before F.R.I.D.A.Y could respond, the lights flicked on, and the suit slowly lowered itself to the floor. Panting, Peter released his tight grip on the metal and fell to his knees, exhausted.

‘Mr. Parker.’ Mr Stark’s tone was clipped, and Peter would never admit it, but he almost wanted to cry. He knew his mentor would be angry, and disappointed, and he _hated_ that he was the cause of that. And god, Mr Stark was _definitely_ going to kill him. ‘You and I are going to have a _long_ conversation about this.’

He was so, _so_ dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so honestly writing this felt super forced and stilted because i just wanted to nail the characters and i hope?? i got somewhere close??? any feedback is appreciated!! thank youu


	2. a multi-million dollar suit but you still have broken earphones?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter's earphones are broken, and everyone is surprised.
> 
> also, tony quickly learns that his little spider isn't the biggest fan of storms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy guys; it's me again!! apologies for the ~eight month delay in my updating lmao -- i'm so bad at staying committed to things i post, and i think it's because i always set myself a minimum word count for my chapters (usually ~3000) and it gets to a point where i struggle to think of ways to keep the plot going in an interesting fashion, so it feels like i'm just dragging it out. it gets boring and tedious for me.
> 
> so, here's a question: shorter chapters and i actually post (because trust me, i have ideas for this) or longer chapters and,, well,,,,,, not much posting?
> 
> happy reading!!

Peter’s earphones annoyed him.

Really, it was a terrible time for gadget malfunction, given he was _already_ trying to scratch out the last lines of a homework English essay with his dying pen. Frustrated, he tugged the cord from his right ear, while the music continued playing softly in his left.

It had happened on his way to school that morning – in his hurry to drown out the overly loud clattering of the world around him, Peter had twisted the cord of his earphones oddly, and now the right wasn’t playing any music. MJ had been usually unsympathetic towards his dire situation, but Ned had merely stared at him in bewilderment – Peter could quite clearly recall the ‘you own a multi-million dollar suit but you still have broken earphones?’ before he’d shushed Ned to stop him whispering another word on the topic, because ‘ _Ned_ , people have ears!!’

Now, though, Peter found himself in agreement with Ned’s confused words, and wondering if Karen could play music through the mask. Surround sound would be nicer than the tinny vibrations of his ten-dollar earphones anyway – surely.

‘Hey Karen?’ Peter greeted the AI as he grasped the mask from where he’d slung it over a ladder rung on his bunk bed, and slipped it on, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

‘Yes, Peter?’ Karen’s familiar tone filled his ears, and the teen smiled.

‘You know how you’re always pulling information from a database when I ask for it? Can you… can you play music, too?’ Peter held his breath during the pause, and then mentally reprimanded himself for it – trust _him_ to be nervous about a computer’s response to a stupid question.

‘Does this have to do with your broken earphones?’ Despite the AI supposedly programmed to sound monotonous, Peter could swear he heard the sigh in her sentence.

‘Uhhhh… uhh, no, Karen!! Why would you think that?’ Peter couldn’t help but glance down at the flimsy tech still plugged into his phone; at least his inability to keep a secret was still blissfully intact. Karen let out a short laugh.

‘Oh, Peter. Mr Stark would be happy to let you into the lab to fix them after you’ve finished your homework,’ the AI assured.

‘Karen, we have to patrol tonight,’ Peter sighed, absentmindedly twirling in his desk chair. ‘Queens needs its friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.’

‘Of course, Peter. But you can always multitask. I’ll let Mr Stark know you’ll be at Avengers Tower in thirty minutes.’ Karen went silent before Peter could even let out a squeal of protest.

* * *

 

It was with great anxiety that Peter found himself webbing through Manhattan twenty minutes later, having hurriedly penned the rest of his essay and changed into his suit. Aunt May was working late anyway, so dinner on Wednesdays was usually leftovers as it was. Not that he could actually _cook_ a decent meal even if he wanted to, of course, so there had been plenty an occasion on which Peter had found himself dining with the Avengers when May worked late.

Agent Romanov didn’t even bat an eyelid when Peter came swinging through the entrance from the platform outside, and Peter stayed comfortably stuck to the ceiling and watched her in interest for a moment as she continued buttering what appeared to be a sandwich.

‘You can stop lurking now, Spiderboy,’ the redhead drawled nonchalantly. Peter’s eyes widened apologetically, and he dropped from the ceiling with an agility held by very few.

‘Sorry, Agent Romanov,’ he smiled sheepishly; Romanov merely side-eyed him.

‘Tony is up in the lab.’

‘Th-thank you!!’ The restless teen stuttered, and stumbled out of the area before Romanov could stab him with her butter knife for daring to watch her going about a daily activity. (His fear was not unwarranted – he’d heard Cap’s stories about Romanov throwing and lodging forks into the wall beside people’s heads when she was in a bad mood. Peter had decided it would be safest to assume the rumours were true).

The teen made a quick detour to the nearest bathroom to change into the clothes he’d stuffed into his backpack, before wandering off to Tony’s lab.

* * *

 

‘I don’t think Agent Romanov likes me very much,’ were Peter’s first words as F.R.I.D.A.Y gave him entrance to the lab.

‘She doesn’t like very many people, so don’t worry yourself over it, kid.’ Tony sat hunched over a bench, tinkering with some fervour. ‘Karen tells me you have some broken earphones.’ Peter’s heart instantly warmed at his mentor’s use of the name he’d given his AI, and he goofily smiled at Mr Stark before the billionaire rolled his eyes and gestured for him to sit down.

When Peter pulled out his old, battered Apple earphones, Tony wrinkled his nose in obvious distaste.

‘Kiddo, these things are _horrible_. They never stop breaking. I could _make_ you better earphones from scratch in half the time it’ll take to fix these.’ Tony had taken them into his hands and was examining them in disgust, and Peter hurriedly snatched them back.

‘No, Mr Stark, that’s okay – I like these earphones. They’re great! I want to keep them.’ Peter said quickly, before suddenly backtracking at the expression Mr Stark was giving him. ‘I mean, I appreciate it, and I’m sorry, but I think I’m just really attached to them, but –,’ Peter shut his mouth after Tony held up a hand to silence him.

‘That’s fine, Pete. The broken, _not_ -horrible earphones it’ll be.’ Tony’s relaxed, easy smirk soothed Peter’s anxious heart, and the pair got to work.

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for Tony to show Peter how to fix his beloved tech, and give him the tools and items necessary to fix them when ‘the damn things inevitably break again,’ according to Mr Stark – to which Peter readily voiced his protest – but when the two finally wandered back out into the almost empty common area, it was to the sound of rain hammering against the tall windows. A stormy front had swept through the city in the short time they’d been working, and now, Manhattan was shrouded in a layer of dark grey clouds. A clap of thunder resonated in the walls – Peter jumped.

He _hated_ storms.

Storms were loud and bright and _muddled_ his senses, and though the rain was rhythmic it was just so _constant_ and oh, _why_ did it have to be _storming_?

Peter stayed quiet as Mr Stark clasped his hands together and suggested pizza for dinner, because apparently Happy would be _more than happy_ to go out and collect it in this weather. Cap and Romanov agreed from where they were lazily lounging on the couches, some nature documentary playing softly in the background of the noise caused by the downpour outside.

‘Pete?’ Peter blinked and turned his attention to his mentor, having missed the proposed question.

‘Hm?’

‘I asked if you’d like to join us for dinner – Happy can drive you home afterwards.’ Tony glanced outside momentarily. ‘I won’t have my favourite spider swinging around the city getting sick… mostly because your Aunt would hate me.’

The spider comment earned Tony a very venomous ‘ _Hey!’_ from Romanov across the room, but Tony just threw her a cocky smirk.

‘Uhhh, yeah, sure,’ Peter finally answered softly. ‘Aunt May is working, um, really late tonight anyway.’ Peter blinked as a particularly bright flash of lightning illuminated the room – too much, too bright. Peter covered his eyes with his hands, wishing the white burning light under his eyelids _away_. He didn’t doubt that soon, his head would start pounding, the ache thrumming away all of his thinking capacity, and the pain would be so bad that it would make him vomit over Mr Stark’s floor all because of a _stupid storm—_

‘Kid.’ Tony had rested a gentle hand on his forearm, and Peter heard himself release a strangled whine in the back of his throat. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s too – it’s too loud, and too _bright_ ,’ he moaned, yanking his hand down from his face in frustration. ‘There’s _too much_ noise!’ Tony frowned at the teenager for a very short moment before realisation dawned on him.

Ah. The kid was enhanced – storms bugged him. So, Tony spoke quietly.

‘Fri, which room in this damn tower is most protected from outside noise and light?’ Oh, and – ‘Do I have noise cancelling headphones in my lab?’

‘Probably your room, boss. And yes, you do; they are located on Dum-E.’ F.R.I.D.A.Y’s reply was equally soft; Tony creased his eyebrows at the location of his headphones before shrugging it off, and leading Peter to the elevator.

‘Thanks, Fri. And order us four pizzas, will you?’

* * *

 

Putting the Spider-kid to bed in his dark, somewhat cosy bedroom was really _not_ how Tony visualised his day ending. But then, the weather had wrongly stated that there wouldn’t be a storm that night, so he supposed even the greatest minds made wrong assumptions.

‘Mr Stark, are you sure? I really don’t want to be any trouble… I really don’t have to stay, I’m sure I’d be fine if Happy took me home.’ Tony stared, and Peter almost cringed.

‘You obviously don’t like storms much, kid. I don’t think you want to stay home alone with thunder rattling your brain. This isn’t up for negotiation.’ Finally, and almost gratefully, Tony noted, Peter fell onto Tony’s bed.

‘I shouldn’t be tired. I was supposed to patrol tonight!!’ Tony chuckled at that.

‘In this weather? No chance.’ Peter didn’t seem to notice Tony gently pulling off his shoes, or he probably would have tried to stop him. Storms _really_ threw him off, Tony noted.

‘I’ll bring you some pizza when it arrives, if you’re not out cold by then,’ the billionaire teased. Peter rolled his eyes as he crawled under the soft covers. ‘If you need anything, let F.R.I.D.A.Y know.’

With that, and a small smirk, Tony closed the door – though not all the way, because he figured the kid wouldn’t mind just a sliver of light shining through the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please do let me know about preferred chapter length, because tbh, i would love to be able to smash out shorter chapters in like, my wednesday morning study period when i go back to school (for reference, my first chapter was ~3.3k words, and this one is ~1.6k).
> 
> this chapter was 100% inspired by the fact that my earphones have been broken. for. months. it's getting annoying.
> 
> hope this chapter was okay, and that y'all have a great weekend!!


	3. multitalented chefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter doesn't like rich food. tony doesn't like it when peter doesn't eat. or sleep. or wear socks.
> 
> bonus: the avengers have hidden cooking talents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha hey guys; i saw endgame on wednesday, and, well,,, no spoilers but i needed to write some cute, fluffy, self-indulgent fanfic after that rollercoaster. for some reason i always end up with my characters falling asleep when i write????? but that's probably because i write late at night when i'm knackered lol.
> 
> sorry for the however many month delay; year twelve is so hectic and i literally don't even have time to breathe... this is the first actual thing i've written in a while so it might be a bit rusty. a solid 2.5k words though, ayyyy!!! no idea how that happened. also it's unedited so there's probably a few errors hahaaa.
> 
> i'm really bad at replying to comments but if anyone leaves any on this chapter i will put in a solid effort to try replying!!! enjoyyy

Peter had never been one to waste food. He had always known that having food was a privilege so many in the world lacked, and strived to finish everything that had been set out as part of his meal (which, given his enhancement and need to devour double what everyone else ate, was never really an issue).

Today, however, Peter shoved his food around his plate with an air of exhaustion quite typical of any high school teenager, tuning out the bantering Avengers around him. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t hungry – he just felt that if he dug into the pasta Carbonara sitting in front of him, he might be sick. It was almost taunting him, he thought; the creamy sauce was too rich and clogged his nose with its stench, and the bacon – well, he liked bacon, but with pasta? It wasn’t a great combination. There were too many rich smells; too many rich elements that, if consumed all at once, would _definitely_ overload his taste buds.

So, Peter sat wordlessly weaving strands of pasta around his fork before dropping them back onto his plate with a soft plonk – not that anyone else could hear, of course. Either way, he found the sound oddly satisfying. It was a small victory.

* * *

 

‘Hey, Pete?’

Peter turned and hummed when Tony called him, eyebrows lifted and eyes wide, lips pressed together in what seemed like slight anticipation. He’d been _trying_ to edge his way out of the common area and back to his room without anyone noticing he was leaving, but of course, his mentor always seemed to be watching him more closely when he _didn’t_ want the extra attention.

‘Yeah, Mr Stark?’ Tony raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as his gaze swept over the teenager.

‘No dessert?’

Peter’s mouth opened slightly, at a loss for words. He snapped it shut a second later, twisting his mouth in uncertainty.

‘I think I’m gonna head to bed, Mr Stark. Long week, and all that,’ he finally said shyly, twisting the cuffs of his sweater in his hands a little too nervously.

‘Alright, kiddo. Shout if you need anything. I’ll tell F.R.I.D.A.Y to let me know if you do.’ The billionaire’s tone was unusually kind, though Peter was far too tired to notice, and merely smiled thankfully at him; then, shot out of the room as quickly as he could. Tony shook his head, bemused, and strolled back over to the team.

* * *

 

It took an hour of staring at the wall in his darkened room for Peter to finally admit to himself that really, he wasn’t even tired – at least, not in such a way that would allow him to sleep. His mind and emotions were exhausted, but physically, he was awake; which did make sense, seeing as it was still shy of nine o’clock. Usually he would be out patrolling at this time, after having finished his homework. The only downside of being at the Tower was that Mr Stark didn’t let him patrol very often; after all, it was the only time the other superhero could force him to rest.

When he’d first started staying at the Tower every couple weekends after the incident with the vulture, _and_ him turning down the new suit, he had protested profusely, and even snuck out once or twice. After Mr Stark had dragged his ‘annoyingly stubborn ass’ back, though, he’d quickly learned that what Mr Stark said in regards to his Spider-manning was what happened. No excuses.

Peter sighed and rolled over onto his back. Unfortunately, the view of his ceiling was no more entertaining than that of his wall. The regret was slowly creeping up to his sternum; he should have stuck around for dessert, rather than tell Mr Stark he was going to bed and then have to do so, because lying to the man unsettled him. He hated lying to him.

‘Mr Parker.’ F.R.I.D.A.Y’s Irish-tinged voice echoed around the room, surprisingly soft. ‘Mr Stark wishes to know if you would like to join him in his lab. I informed him of your apparent inability to fall asleep tonight, as per his instruction.’

Peter almost launched himself off his bed at that; his eyes widened as he quickly sat up.

‘As per his instruction?’ He spluttered, baffled.

‘He wanted to ensure you rested. He believes you are exhausted.’

‘Yeah, that would be about right,’ Peter muttered almost bitterly, slumping back against the array of pillows stacked against the headboard. ‘Not exhausted enough to sleep though, apparently.’

‘Should I let Boss know you will be joining him momentarily?’ F.R.I.D.A.Y asked patiently – if AIs could even _sound_ patient, Peter thought in amusement. Maybe his imagination just gave them a tone depending on how he _thought_ they should sound. He made a mental note to ask Mr Stark later.

‘I don’t want to bother him, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’

‘He assures me you definitely won’t be bothering him.’ F.R.I.D.A.Y definitely didn’t sound assured – but that was probably just Peter. Yes, he definitely needed to ask Mr Stark about AI tones.

‘What’s he doing right now?’ Peter asked curiously – he genuinely wanted to know, of course, but aimed to stall as much as he could.

‘Fixing the Spider-Man suit following your most recent patrol.’ Uh oh. Yesterday’s patrol hadn’t been a pleasant one; a mugger had graze his side with the blade of a definitively sharp knife, and it had damaged some of the suit’s intricate threading. Peter had told him earlier, albeit nervously and with a lot of lip-chewing, but Mr Stark had seemed surprisingly okay about it, and quite nonchalantly taken the suit in his hands, promising to have it fixed and back to him before Peter went back home on Sunday.

‘Does he seem tired? If he’s tired, you can let him know fixing my suit can wait.’ Peter shoved his hands behind his head, rolling his lip between his teeth once again – it was his most common nervous habit.

‘Peter, you are stalling,’ F.R.I.D.A.Y stated matter-of-factly; that tone, Peter _could_ believe.

‘No I’m not,’ he answered quickly. His biting down more harshly on the soft skin of his lip gave away his anxiety, however. ‘You can let Mr Stark know I’m going to sleep,’ he added, a moment later. F.R.I.D.A.Y was silent for a few seconds.

‘Boss respectfully says that claiming you will sleep won’t assist in you actually sleeping, and requests that you drag your lazy teen ass downstairs or he will come up to speak to you himself.’ It sounded almost like a warning, though lacked animosity; Peter wondered if Tony had said the words with impatience, or irritation, or lightly…

‘Alright, F.R.I.D.A.Y,’ he sighed, ‘tell Mr Stark I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘Very well, Peter.’ She fell silent, and Peter groaned to himself. He tossed his duvet aside and swung his legs over the side of the soft mattress; as much as he couldn’t sleep, the bed was still comfortable as _hell_ and leaving the warmth for the cooler surrounding air wasn’t something he enjoyed. He stared down at his bare feet for a short moment before shrugging – sure, it was still technically winter, albeit late winter, but it wasn’t _too_ cold in the tower. Mr Stark made sure of that, and Peter had a hunch, sometimes, that it was for his sake. Apparently spiders hibernated when the temperatures got too cold, but Peter had yet to experience that, if it was true at all.

Slowly, Peter pushed off the bed and trudged over to the door. He silently prayed to himself that he wouldn’t encounter any of the other Avengers on his trip downstairs – his pyjamas, humorous as they would all find them, consisted of pink Hello Kitty pants and an ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ shirt. Both were oversized to at least some degree, and really, he wasn’t quite sure _how_ they had become his standard Avengers Tower pyjamas. He had returned the clothes to Mr Stark his first time staying at the Tower, because he felt bad that the billionaire had even had to buy them, and the next week they had just appeared in his closet. So, Peter wore them. They were soft, and seeing them brought some warmth to his heart. He suspected Mr Stark had been the one to place them in his closet; maybe as a joke, but Peter thought the gesture was kind and was, indeed, grateful.

* * *

 

Peter wandered into the lab quietly, F.R.I.D.A.Y having let him in. His feet padded softly on the smooth floor, and it took him a second to spot Mr Stark leaning over one of the benches. Peter stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, arms swinging at his sides, and glancing around in interest as he always did when he was in Mr Stark’s lab – something new always managed to catch his eye.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ Mr Stark finally spoke, making Peter jump. He turned his head from where he’d been staring at a poster hung in the far corner to see Mr Stark smiling at him.

‘Hi, Mr Stark,’ he said, absently curling his fingers into his palms. ‘F.R.I.D.A.Y said you were, uh, working on my suit.’

‘Just finished. You’re all good to go, Spiderling,’ he said confidently, patting the blue, red, and black heap of material in front of him in affirmation.

‘Thanks Mr Stark.’ Peter smiled softly, and treaded over to examine the suit himself. He picked it up and turned it this way and that, grinning at the lack of unstitched, broken material that had existed mere hours before.

‘Uh, kid.’ Peter hummed and looked up from his beloved suit, but his bright facial expression faltered when Mr Stark raised his eyebrows at him. ‘What have I told you about wearing something on your feet when walking around the Tower?’

‘Wear… something,’ Peter muttered, shooting a glare at his feet. ‘But Mr Stark, it’s not cold in here. It’s fine,’ he complained.

‘Yeah huh, okay, squirt. If you want to find out if Dr Cho’s hibernation theory is true, that’s just fine by me.’ Peter gnawed at his lip, again. His mentor noticed.

‘Not really,’ Peter admitted.

‘Thought not. Come on. And stop chewing your lips, kid, or soon you won’t have any,’ he reprimanded, getting up and leading the way out the doors. Peter followed, tightly clutching his suit to his chest as if it was a strange form of comfort.

* * *

 

Mr Stark basically forced a pair of thick socks onto Peter’s feet the second they arrived back into the teen’s room. Smirking, he sat back on his knees when Peter had realised what he was doing and grabbed the socks from his mentor’s hands to put them on himself – there was _no way_ he was letting Mr Stark put socks on his feet. That would be the highest form of humiliation… right?

‘Why did you invite me down to the lab just to bring me straight back up here?’ Peter grumbled at last, once his struggle with his socks was complete.

‘I wanted to talk to you, Spiderling. I figured maybe a change of scenery would be nice, but then you decided to stop properly taking care of yourself.’ Mr Stark looked at him pointedly.

‘I don’t think putting socks on is the most important thing in taking care of myself,’ Peter argued, eyebrows furrowing.

‘Maybe not, but _eating_ is,’ Mr Stark remarked. He studied Peter, waiting for a reaction, and he certainly got one; Peter groaned again and slumped back so he was laying on his bed with his calves dangling over the edge, swinging against the side. ‘You’ve gotta take care of yourself properly, kiddo, or have you forgotten you’re enhanced? You eat twice as much as the whole team put together. Or, you’re _supposed_ to.’

‘I wasn’t hungry, Mr Stark,’ Peter sighed, tiredly. The view of the ceiling was still boring.

‘Oh, no? And how often have you supposedly not been hungry over the past few days? May tells me things, you know.’ Peter made a noise in the back of his throat, then turned and buried his face in the soft material of his duvet.

Tony watched the teenager curl into his bedding, looking far younger than he usually seemed. It reminded Tony of how young this kid really was – young, and scarily fragile. Dangerously so.

‘You’ve gotta eat, Pete,’ he said, tone gentle as Peter had ever heard it.

‘I _do_ eat,’ Peter protested weakly. It’s just… I don’t know. Carbonara is so rich, sir.’ Tony frowned at the formality at the end of that statement, but decided he could address it later.

‘Then we’ll cook something else, kid. We have a multitalented set of chefs hanging around this Tower.’ It was a half-joke; many of the Avengers couldn’t cook, but those that could did it _well._ Wanda did well with a range of cultural dishes, and Steve made great breakfasts. Natasha could cook a killer lasagne, and an even better spaghetti bolognaise. ‘Tell me about the last few days.’ Tony stood and dropped onto the bed beside Peter’s slumped form. Peter eyed him from where he’d burrowed into his bed.

‘Haven’t been hungry,’ Peter finally said, relenting. Then he thought for a moment. ‘Have been hungry but nothing has looked nice. Weird appetite. I made a sandwich on Tuesday when May was working late and I had a bite and then decided I didn’t want it. Thought I would be sick if I ate it,’ he amended.

‘You’re a weird one, kiddo.’ Peter hummed in assent.

‘Yeah. My appetite goes through phases.’

‘Sure sounds like it does,’ Tony agreed.

‘I’m really stressed, Mr Stark,’ Peter confessed after a short minute of quiet.

‘Yeah?’ Tony asked, and reached a hand over to run it through the kid’s curls. It wasn’t something he did often, but when he did, he noted that it seemed to comfort Peter in some odd little way.

‘Yeah. You know, when school is so busy and patrol is busy and there’s not enough time to sleep. That kind of stress. Maybe that’s why I don’t want food. Too worried. Worked up.’ Tony could tell he was _actually_ getting tired, this time around, and sifted through his Spiderling’s curls as he thought of a response.

‘Sometimes you’ve gotta prioritise, Pete. Sacrifice doing so much of one thing so you can put in that time somewhere else. You can’t do everything perfectly all the time.’

‘But I gotta,’ Peter moaned.

‘No, you don’t gotta. You gotta take care of yourself and eat enough and sleep. Otherwise you’ll end up looking like shit, like I do.’ Peter giggled at that.

‘Don’ look like shit. I look like shit. Should sleep,’ he whispered.

‘Yeah, kiddo. You should sleep. Come on.’ Tony helped Peter move under the duvet and laid it back over him with a gentleness he rarely bestowed upon anyone.

'T’ny?’ Peter whispered, just as the billionaire made to leave.

‘Yeah, Peter?’

‘Thanks.’ The teen was smiling giddily, eyes shut by now, and Tony resisted fondly rolling his eyes.

‘Anytime, kid.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope that wasn't too, uhhhh, messy,,,,, and that y'all enjoyed it. no idea when my next update will be but stick around because i have the start of like five oneshots just sitting on my laptop so hopefully i'll get to them soon!!


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